


And I’ve Been Cold Since You’ve Left

by mistyegg



Series: Midnight Oil [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyegg/pseuds/mistyegg
Summary: Prompt: As he flicked through the letters, a small, handwritten envelope caught his attention and his heart began to thump.





	And I’ve Been Cold Since You’ve Left

**Author's Note:**

> i screamed when this prompt came up ngl
> 
> title from haunting by halsey

These past weeks Alexander has found himself more intent on reading past letters and his own messy documents rather than running his hand sore from writing. He had no reason to write at that very moment - a letter he hadn’t even read himself, was read to him by his wife, broke the motivation that seemed to constantly burn through his blood.

That letter was looking at him right now, at the top of the pile in the locked drawer, opened once and forever hiding in the envelope after being opened only once. He knew his wife was asleep soundly in their bed, and his son was dreaming wonderfully in his own crib, but still felt hesitant as he once again looked over the letters that both fueled his heart and crushed it years later.

He know Eliza knows something. Knows there are horrible secrets buried in the draw only he has the key to - but she never asks, just smiles and kisses his cheek and makes her way to take care of Philip. He almost misses that at he slides out the worn letters that were sent back and worth, having been given them by Henry at special request.

He doesn’t cry. Only chokes under his breath and lets his heart catch at every secret meaning they made between them - things that would seem innocent to an onlooker, wouldn’t make sense to a strangers eye. The wax from the candle in his office has burnt dangerously low when he once again gets through the timeline to the last letter Alexander had sent, still unopened and waiting to be read by John himself. Directly under it was the last letter about John, not written by him but by Henry, hastily written and messily written. 

Alexander’s hands shook as he pulled the paper out, once held by Eliza as she clutched her husband to her chest, her own voice a whisper as she announced the news.

_ “On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3,000 men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him.” _

The paper is wrinkling under his death grip and he sinks lower into his office chair, instead raising a fist to catch the tears falling from his eyes.


End file.
